


Advent: Jukebox

by FyrMaiden



Series: Klaine Advent 2014 [10]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Space Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Klaine Advent Prompt: Jukebox</p><p>(Shameless homage to H2G2; The Big Bang <i>Breakfast</i> Bar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Advent: Jukebox

At the very dawn of time, the jukebox in the corner of the shop plays tunes from the late 20th Century quietly. Behind the counter, Blaine Anderson hums along happily, tapping his feet as he mans the panini machine. The Breakfast Bar is quiet this morning, only a few regulars sitting at the counter waiting for their sandwiches and drinking their blended smoothies and morning coffees. Their host has not arrived yet from his evening gig at the other end of the universe, but Blaine isn’t concerned. Kurt will be here. He hasn’t missed a Bang since the bar opened, although he has acquired a tendency to arrive a little later than scheduled, with great fanfare and a quip. Blaine smiles to himself, lifts the lid of the press, and jumps when a familiar voice right beside his ear says, “You’ve changed the music.”

Sucking his burned finger into his mouth, Blaine turns his head and smiles at the newcomer. “You’re early,” he says, taking in the upsweep of Kurt’s hair, the clean smell of soap and shaving cream. His own hair is neatly parted, gelled down in a manner that his research before opening the Breakfast Bar had suggested was Old Earth Era appropriate to the 1950s. He wears bow ties in a variety of colours and textures, paired with bright shirts and fitted cardigans. His tailored jeans hug his hips and stop an inch above his sockless ankles. Blaine Anderson makes a lot of money in tips from clientele who have no business bringing money with them to a place which shouldn’t exist, rocking as it does back and forth across the dawn of the universe on a temporally improbably chunk of rock.

Kurt leans in and presses a quick kiss to his mouth, which Blaine returns almost on autopilot. “I know,” he says. “But I have something I want to arrange today.”

He reaches around Blaine, who bats at his hands as they dip into the salad bar, and grabs a tomato, biting into it with gusto and relish. Blaine has fresh vegetables brought in daily from their appropriate time. He thinks it adds retro verisimilitude, if the produce is fresh from 1955. At least, he doesn’t believe the synthetic strawberries they have now (or will have, given that strawberries are several billion years from existence) have quite the same taste. From the look on Kurt’s face, he most definitely agrees. He makes an almost orgasmic sound in his throat as he swallows and cracks one eye open. Blaine swallows hard and bows his head, and doesn’t think about every other time he has heard that noise. Instead, he turns back to his panini machine, removes the sandwich, and slides it along the counter with practiced ease to a gentleman in a bathrobe who seems genuinely excited to see a grilled cheese sandwich and has, so far, asked only for tea, as in, the drink.

Sandwich and tea delivered, Blaine turns back to Kurt, takes his hand and draws him into the kitchen. When the door has swung shut behind them, he puts his hands on Kurt’s face and kisses him soundly. “What can you possibly have to arrange?” he asks, and Kurt smiles easily.

“It’s a surprise,” he says. He smooths Blaine’s hair with his hand. “Now, though, I have to change.”

He’s gone almost as quickly as he arrived, and Blaine doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get used to the Breakfast Bar’s odd temporal quirks.

Back at the counter, the breakfast rush has picked up. Blaine activates his two Sirius Cybernetics androids, whom he has affectionately named Tina (pretty, with a bright smile and a flare for the dramatic) and Sam (floppy blonde hair and era appropriate charm), to help him keep his clientele fed and happy. Tina takes the coffee pot and scoots between the tables with it, her rollerball movement mechanism making her quick and flexible. She stops to chat with her favourite customers, but never at the expense of those waiting for service. Sam takes on the grill, where he has perfected sunnyside up eggs. Blaine keeps the menu deliberately short order and simple, and hasn’t had a customer complaint in a long while. Barely audible above the hum of chatter and sizzling eggs, the jukebox rotates through to Katy Perry, and Blaine begins to sing along, quietly, with a smile of his own that makes people want to smile back.

When Blaine checks the time, he finds that the minutes are ticking down to the Big Bang, the reason that they’re all here. He rings the bell on the counter and declares that it’s final orders. If people need another coffee to go with their experience this morning, now is the time to ask for it. He sets the ceiling to transparent, watches - as he does every morning - the swirl of dust above them, and listens to the audible gasp of voices, many of whom experience this at least once a month. The jukebox goes silent, and Kurt steps into the middle of the floor, wearing a jacket that makes Blaine’s heart leap, mirroring, as it does, the sky above them, stars burning and flaring right off of the fabric. His smile is bright and wide, and he raises the microphone to his mouth.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “And those in between or neither.” He raises his glass to a regular, who oozes at him and gurgles happily. “Welcome, one and all, to the biggest bang you’ll ever experience here with us as the Big Bang Breakfast Bar. Stick with us, and hopefully you’ll see the birth of something very special this morning.” He turns his smile on Blaine, who leans his hip against the counter and grins back, used to Kurt’s performance style now. He busies himself wiping down the counter and the coffee machine, glancing up now and then to watch Kurt as he interacts and points out specific moments of creation, and allows himself a secret moment of pride. Kurt is wonderful, and he’s his.

He’s settling into the rhythm of the event when Kurt says something that’s not scripted. He says Blaine’s name, causing Blaine’s head to snap up abruptly, glancing around the crowd. Kurt, however, is facing him, his eyes locked with Blaine’s own. Slowly, slowly, he sinks to one knee.

It’s not how they do things, not where - when - they’re from. Blaine feels his heart thump, hears Tina’s coo of appreciation for the spectacle. He appreciates Kurt’s attention to detail, but his ears are ringing and he can’t quite believe this is a thing which is happening, here and now. In one outstretched hand, Kurt holds a ring. Blaine forgets how to swallow. Sam puts a hand in the middle of his back and gently pushes him forward. Blaine moves on autopilot, heads for Kurt, draws him back to his feet and embraces him in a hug that could end the world.

Above them, the heavens collide and life begins. All eyes within the Big Bang Breakfast Bar, however, are firmly fixed on the two men standing in the middle of the mezzanine, black and white tiles a checkerboard beneath their feet.

The applause doesn’t begin until Blaine Anderson, owner and chef and bright shining permanent presence, nods his head and says yes.


End file.
